Dirty Ice
by Angie Morse
Summary: Draco's 7th Year. Definite AU.


A/N: Ugh. I was at the mercy of my muse. I couldn't even think about another story while I had this one bubbling in my mind. Blame the muses, damn it. Definitely an AU, don't complain to me about it. Angie

Draco Malfoy's eyes were cold as the dirty ice they resembled. His mind vaguely registered the words around him, but he made no move to acknowledge the people standing nearby. Nor did he make an effort to comfort the sobbing woman beside him. That fact was earning him some disapproving glances from the rest of the crowd, but he didn't care. His eyes were locked on those of the older male a few yards in the distance.

Black robes draped about a body sculpted by years of Quidditch and a summer of endless push-ups. Draco had never lacked female admirers, but as his mother had tearfully told him a few weeks before, he was growing up just like his father, Lucius Malfoy. He was handsome, confident, and intelligent. Unspoken, but not forgotten, were the traits that had brought Draco to this room today: ruthlessness and a heart to match his eyes.

Usually mocking or sneering, his face was devoid of expression. He merely stood there, watching the proceedings. The trial had been a joke, the conviction was guaranteed. Respect, power, and awe, words once associated with the Malfoy name, had been replaced with hatred, evil, and contempt. Now, a week after the sentencing, the crowd that had been at Lucius' trial had gathered to see the execution.

Next to him, someone pulled Narcissa away. Draco watched as his father's eyes flicked from his seventeen year old son to the man who had once been his confidante and closest friend. Tired grey eyes met black ones as the man gently put his hands on Narcissa's shoulder, indicating that the still beautiful blonde should leave before anything happened. Narcissa stifled a sob as she let the Hogwarts Potions professor lead her out of the room.

Taking the hint, other 'friends' of the family shuffled out as well, brushing past an immobile Draco as they headed for the door. Noticing the boy, a Ministry official moved towards Draco to usher him out. The man halted when Draco raised a hand, silently motioning to be left alone. Lucius was once more staring straight at his son. Draco didn't blink, meeting his father's piercing gaze.

Draco didn't blink when the Dementor walked in. Draco didn't blink when the Ministry officials began to file out of the room. Draco didn't blink as his father's gaze shifted to the Dementor, a hint of fear filling Lucius' expression. And most of all, Draco didn't blink as the Dementor lowered its head, capturing a screaming Lucius in the Dementor's kiss.

Draco Malfoy gasped for breath before falling back against the bed. Lucius' execution was two months earlier, and the vision still haunted Draco's dreams. Growling to himself, the blonde threw back the covers, standing up. He glanced towards the window, guessing the time at an hour before dawn. With a faint sigh, he dropped to the floor, beginning his daily regime of as many push-ups as he could fit in.

Despite his reputation, this was not a matter of vanity. With every rhythmic push, he could hear his father's voice ringing in his ears. It was a lecture Draco had heard oft repeated in his youth. Being a Malfoy came with certain privileges, such as wealth, but it came with responsibilities as well. Draco was taught from earliest childhood to never show weakness.

Watching his carefully built world tumble down around him, Draco had needed to find an outlet for his emotions. He could not get angry; his father had forbid any outward display on Draco's part over Lucius' arrest and execution. He could not cry; the last time Draco had shed real tears was when he was five, having been pulled out of the frozen lake after falling through thin ice. Draco was left with physical exercise as his only escape.

As dawn arrived, Draco let himself rest. Strands of silver-blonde hair fell in his eyes, but he made no move to push them aside. He simply lay there, his shirtless back resting against the cold, unforgiving oak floor. In spite of the physical exertion, he was not breathing heavily. Closing his eyes for a few minutes, Draco concentrated on slowing down his heartbeat. Once he was satisfied, he stood. Today, he could not afford the luxury of idleness.

Draco showered quickly before heading downstairs to the kitchens. His lack of shirt would have earned stern reprimands from his father, but Lucius was no longer the master of Malfoy Manor. That title had been left to his son now. With a cursory glance around the hall, Draco noted that his mother had not risen from bed this morning. A dry smile crossed his lips; he couldn't blame her. When he left this afternoon, Narcissa Malfoy would be alone in the manor.

The part of Draco that registered emotions felt a twinge of pity for his mother. Her husband was dead, executed for his beliefs. Her lover was gone, having said his good-byes the night before. Within the space of an hour, her only child would be leaving her side as well. Draco was no fool. He had known since he was a boy that there was no love between Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. However, Lucius had provided a stable grounding point, something the flighty woman had needed desperately.

Shaking his head to clear it, Draco opened the icebox door, reaching for the juice. He poured himself a glass, downing it in one gulp before refilling the glass and replacing the container in the icebox. Grabbing a piece of bread which he quickly toasted with the aid of his wand, Draco walked back up the stairs to the third floor. Stopping on the second landing, his eyes fell upon the closed door of Narcissa's bedroom.

Draco remained on the landing, one hand resting on the banister while he watched the door, waiting to see if his mother would emerge. As the moments dragged on, Draco became convinced that Narcissa intended to stay locked in her room all day. With the faintest of sighs, Draco continued the climb up to his bedroom. Unbidden, memories of previous journeys to Platform 9 ¾ rose in his mind.

Narcissa was always up early, ensuring that her son was ready. She would worry about whether or not he would be fed well enough on the train ride, or once he arrived at school. Cheerful and smiling while the preparations were in progress, Narcissa never failed to break down in tears when the time came to say good bye to Draco for a term. She would make him give the same empty promises every year; stay out of trouble, don't get hurt during Quidditch, and write home every day.

Lucius, on the other hand, would grumble that just because the boy was leaving home for months did not mean that Lucius' breakfast should have to wait, or that Narcissa had any right to neglect her husband in favor of her son. When it came time to leave, however, Lucius would pull Draco aside and remind the boy once again to not make enemies openly, but be careful who he associated with.

Draco grimaced to himself, shutting his bedroom door rather sharply behind him as he quickly surveyed the neatly packed trunk and the broom leaning against it. He nodded, satisfied with the sight. Having decided on the landing that there was no point in remaining, Draco levitated his trunk, floating it down the stairs to the front entrance. Slinging his broom over his shoulder, he glanced around the bedroom one last time before exiting.

Once more stopping outside his mother's door, Draco conjured a single red rose. Without a word, he laid the flower on the ground in front of her bedroom. Turning to leave, he pulled a shirt over his shoulders as he jogged down the steps. Hoisting the trunk onto his shoulder, Draco left Malfoy Manor. Not glancing backwards, Draco set off for Platform 9 ¾ and the Hogwarts Express.

Back in her bedroom, Narcissa Malfoy was sitting up in bed, eyes locked on the closed door that had separated her from her son. She had known full well what he was waiting for, but she could not bring herself to say goodbye to Draco. Every day she looked at him since Lucius' execution, she saw her deceased husband more and more. Narcissa was growing to hate her son, and somehow, she didn't care.

Draco waited in the shadows of Platform 9 ¾, his eyes casually scanning the slowly gathering students. Some would say that Draco belonged in the shadows, while the same fact would creep into the nightmares of others. Off to one side, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy were lounging against one of the walls. Pansy had the same beady look in her eyes as she looked around her, never noticing Draco. He preferred it that way.

Far separated from the Slytherin crowd, Gryffindors were beginning to gather. Dean and Seamus were happily discussing the upcoming Quidditch season, with the occasional comment from Ron Weasley. A cold sneer crossed Draco's lips. Didn't they know that this year would be more than just Quidditch and classes? Draco sensed danger in store for this year. Lucius Malfoy, one of Voldemort's most trusted followers, was gone. But Lucius was not the only Death Eater remaining, nor was he the most active.

The students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were in for a shock, he was certain of it. To be completely honest, Draco reveled in the knowledge. The superficial friendships and surface deep relationships made him sick. He wasn't looking forward to this year. His wannabe girlfriend, Pansy, doted on him, even as she slept with every Slytherin male she could get her hands on, past or present.

There were rumors that Pansy had boosted her Potions marks through 'favors' for Snape. Draco doubted that. He wouldn't put it past Pansy to offer, but he didn't believe that Snape would reduce himself to that level. The pug faced little snob would hold no appeal after the charms of Narcissa Malfoy. As for Crabbe and Goyle, well… Their evident lack of anything remotely resembling intelligence made them cling to the first leader they saw. Draco had made sure for years that the two were loyal to him, and to him alone.

Cho Chang was nearby, giggling with some of her friends. Draco had never understood the fascination with the tittering laughter of girls. He had heard guys talking in the common room or Great Hall about the phenomenon, and how attractive they found it. Personally, giggles tended to annoy him. All they did was fuel his belief that the girl was a mindless automaton whose only pleasure was batting her eyes and putting on makeup. Such were the thoughts of Hogwarts' newest Head Boy as he surveyed the students he was to lead.


End file.
